


Failsafe

by winchestered_again



Series: _-_Vent series_-_ [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Dysphoria, Graphic Self-Harm, Heavy Angst, Like, Oh look, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Shock, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Male Character, Vent fic?, actually i'm choosing post canon, ig?, im projecting now, really graphic, so you should be seeing some of the others pop up soon, this is almost completely written out dw, watch your triggers!!!!, whichever one you prefer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2020-10-13 14:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestered_again/pseuds/winchestered_again
Summary: irony[ˈīrənē]NOUNthe expression of one's meaning by using language that normally signifies the opposite, typically for humorous or emphatic effect.|| OR ||Jeremy Heere was not okay.





	1. || One ||

**Author's Note:**

> Please!!! Be!!! Safe!!!
> 
> Please reach out if you feel this way!!!
> 
> Don't be Jeremy!!!

Wrong. It was how everything felt. Jeremy _hated _this feeling. Usually, it wasn't too bad, and he could ignore it if he was distracted enough. But then there are these moments when it just feels so wrong and unnatural that he wants to tear his skin off.

And one of those moments was happening, and he _loathed_it. He hated _all of it. _It took all of his self-control to keep from digging his nails into his arms in a half-hearted attempt to curl up so small that there would be no room for these imperfections. Tears pricked at his eyes as his thoughts spiraled downward, dragging him under waves of self-hatred and dysphoria. The small whimper that makes its way through his lips only serves as a reminder that everything was _wrong. _

_Wrong, wrong, wrong. It was all wrong! _

Another whimper escapes as he tries to curl further in on himself. Against his conscious mind, his hands grip his arms tightly, nails digging into his skin hard enough to make indents.

Then suddenly he's _tired_. His hands fall, and he stretches out on the bed as he stares at the ceiling. His brain is still screaming at him, telling him how _wrong _everything was, but it's muted somehow. It's like he's underwater and someone is screaming from outside of it. He couldn't make any sense of it if he tried.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. His thoughts spiral further down into a bottomless pit as even more dangerous thoughts enter his head. Thoughts of death and destruction, each one more gruesome than the last.

_The ceiling could collapse, trapping you under thick cement blocks that steal precious oxygen from your lungs. The oven could suddenly burst into flames, and you would have no way to escape before it traps you in. Someone could break in and shoot you, leaving you to die a slow and painful death._

Then his thoughts take a deeper, darker turn, taking his own actions into account, and then naming all of the fatal things he could do to himself.

_There's an entire bottle of that new anti-depressant in the cabinet. What about that knife block your mother bought years ago that your dad never had the heart to get rid of? Isn't there a rope in the garage?_

Jeremy knows full-well that none of these thoughts are normal, but he doesn't try to direct his train of thought anywhere else. He lets out a small sigh as he shifts to lay on his left side, where he's facing his bedroom's door. Then another thought enters his head:

_The bathroom's not too far away, and it shouldn't take much water._

He sits up, almost as if in a trance, then he's standing and making his way out of his room.

Everything is louder at night, so it isn't surprising that the door to the bathroom squeaks. He's silent as he reaches down to open the cabinet under the sink. From there, he finds a bag hidden in the very back. He takes out the bag and sets it on the edge of the sink and closes the cabinet back. When he opens the bag, he pulls out a couple of stray band-aids, a roll of gauze, and a very familiar set of blades. He takes a breath and glances at the mirror, catching a glimpse of his face; the bags under his eyes, the empty look, the slightly sunken cheeks, the even paler color of his skin. He picks up the box and inspects it, wondering if he was really willing to do it this time.

_Do it_, a voice sneers, and Jeremy suddenly finds no apprehension about the request. He opens the box and takes a blade out, not caring if it was clean or not. _It won't matter after tonight anyway._ He's made his choice. Most of his muted thoughts have gone silent, and Jeremy somehow finds it ironic that the only one left is telling him about how he could never be real. The voice was right, of course, but it was annoying how it only kept repeating things he already knew.

_Look at you_, the voice says. _Do you really think you're a boy? That's laughable. You're too thin. Your hips are too wide. Your face isn't right. There's nothing there. There's something there. Your voice is too high._

The voice keeps spitting out flaws like a child eats candy until Jeremy can't handle it anymore. He makes his choice, reaching for his phone from his pocket. He sends one last message before the sharp metal cuts into his skin.

Ironic, isn't it?


	2. || Two ||

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh something's wrong and michael freaks out

_im _ _srry_

The sudden message strikes fear. Pure fear as Michael jumps up from the table. He can already feel a tightness in his chest as he reads the message again, desperately hoping that he's wrong.

"Michael!" His mother's yelling at him while his mom sits surprised and confused at the sudden movement.

Everything blurs and he can feel his recently eaten dinner coming up, but he stamps the feeling down. His mother calls his name again as he feels his knees give out, and his phone clatters to the floor with the owner falling not too far behind.

Nothing felt right. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Jeremy always used proper grammar. It always frustrated Michael, but Jeremy was stubborn and always kept autocorrect on to fix any mistakes he made. And if Jeremy wasn't doing that...

He tries to get up but the lack of air in his lungs and weak knees keep him grounded. _No, no, no. Something's _wrong.

_Jeremy?_

A few seconds pass and there's no answer. Micheal can't breathe. _wrongwrongwrongsomething'swrong!_

He can feel his mother's hands on his arm, holding it to her chest while she exaggerates her breathing. It works slowly, Michael focusing all his energy on calming down so he could actually check on Jeremy. He looks down at his phone when he can finally breathe, and there are no new messages.

Michael jumps up again, flying towards the door as he ignores his moms in favor of Jeremy. He looks back down at his phone for a third time, pressing the green call button and pressing the phone to his ear.

It rings once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four times.

The call goes to voicemail and something in Michael breaks. The last time Jeremy hadn't answered...Michael shook his head, steely determination filling his body along with adrenaline as he picks up his speed, running to the little white house at the end of the road. It seemed with each step he took, he only got farther away from the dark wooden door that withheld its answer from him.


	3. || Three ||

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> going, going, going
> 
> down,
> 
> down,
> 
> down

It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would have. One quick swipe of the metal object left behind a line of dark blood and a stinging feeling. He glances over as his phone vibrates on the counter.

It buzzes once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four times.

He lets the call go to voicemail, electing to slide the blade against his arm again. He pulls the object away and inspects the shallow cut. _It isn't deep enough._ He drags the blade across his arm again, pressing down harder than he did previously and leaving a thicker line of darker blood. He watches, mesmerized, as the droplets collect and slide down his arm, landing soundlessly on the white tile.

His phone buzzes again, but he ignores it.

There's static in his head and ringing in his ears as he makes another cut, pressing down hard on the blade. A sick sort of satisfaction rises in his chest as he thinks about what could happen right here, right now. It could slip, and he could cut deeper than he meant to. Or, he could do it on purpose.

The crushing feeling knocks into him like a wave and suddenly he can't breathe, and he's made his choice, he has to do it.

1

2

3

It doesn't show any signs of stopping, of slowing down, and suddenly Jeremy wants to live, but he can't- Black spots appear in his vision, creeping in at the edges. His heart beats loudly in his chest as his vision blurs, his arm and the floor beyond it coming in and out of focus. The blood flows like a small river down his arm, each drop echoing as it hits the ground, and Jeremy can't move, shock overtaking him. His body goes numb, and the room swims more as he represses an urge to throw up.

_Nonono_-

It takes a few moments for him to register, but there's someone banging frantically on the front door. He tries to get up, but he's cut too deep and blood's still steadily escaping the wound, so he falls onto the bloodied tile of the small bathroom, instead. The blade drops out of his hand, and his vision blurs again.

He vaguely hears someone yelling his name, but he's too out of it to be completely sure.


	4. || Four ||

Fear turns to terror as Michael finds the door of the Heere house locked with the key missing from its usual place under the mat. The feeling of wrongness only intensifies the longer he stands outside the door. He knocks, praying that Jeremy will open the door and everything will be fine, and he'll find out there was nothing to worry about in the first place.

No one answers.

He knocks until it turns to banging as he frantically tries to convince himself that this wasn't happening. Jeremy was fine. _Jeremy was fine_. And then he hears a loud _thump!_ come from inside the house, and it sends him panicking again.

"Jeremy?!" His hand hits the wood repeatedly, and then Michael's wondering where Mr.Heere is because _his son could be fucking dying and- _

Like an idiot, it just then occurs to him that he can call an ambulance or something. So that's what he does, numbly tripping through what would normally be an awkward conversation. They tell him to stay calm as he waits, but he can't because his best friend was somewhere inside the house, most likely hurt, and he couldn't do anything about it. The idea of getting into the house through a window crosses his mind but is quickly shut down. He knew for a fact that the windows were locked.

"Please be okay," he mutters to himself, over and over, almost like a prayer as he waits for the ambulance or someone to arrive. He bounces uneasily on the balls of his feet, filled with a sudden rush of nervous and anxious energy as he continues to repeat the short phrase to himself.

_I hope you're okay._


	5. || Five ||

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you tell I completely forgot about this?

The next few minutes are fuzzy as he fades in and out of consciousness. He can feel his heart beating loud in his ears, and his chest heaves as he finds it harder to breathe. His vision blurs periodically as he finds himself watching dazedly as blood gathers in a puddle on the tile under his arm.

There's an echo of sirens as he loses consciousness once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh...i don't really have an excuse for how late this is. also expect shorter chapters.

Michael doesn't feel any better when the ambulance shows up. He doesn't feel any better when his moms show up. He doesn't feel any better when Mr. Heere finally shows up half an hour after Michael had first gotten the text, eyes wide with worry and fear.

Even after the door had been opened, Michael couldn't calm his nerves.

He leads the paramedics through the house, up the stairs towards Jeremy's room. His room is undisturbed, which unsettles him further. Papers were scattered across the desk and Michael almost misses the out-of-place stationery. He decides to leave the papers in favor of finding his friend. He walks out of Jeremy's room and heads straight for the bathroom. It was the only place left that he hadn't check and he was terrified of what he would find in there. Is Michael too late? Would Jeremy be dead?

The door of the bathroom opens and Michael has to fight the urge to throw up. His best friend was lying on the ground, a pool of blood under his left arm that was still bleeding. There was another bloodstain on his shirt where his right arm laid. The metal of the used blade shined in the light not too far away from his left hand.

Suddenly, he stumbles back and someone's arms wrap around him, but all he can see is Jeremy as the paramedics take him away. Even after they're gone, he can still see the body of his friend on the bathroom floor, too pale and bloody. He can tell someone is leading him away from the scene, but he doesn't have the mental power to figure out where he is, much less where he's going.

He's in some kind of haze where nothing can get through, an impenetrable forcefield of some sort. It was a feeling similar to disassociation, yet it was completely different.

His mind is completely empty until he remembers the papers.

He then breaks away from whoever is leading him and heads back towards Jeremy's room, immediately spotting the papers as soon as he steps into the abandoned room. He picks the sheets up off the desk, straightaway noticing that they seemed to be more like drafts of a note than an actual note. It takes him a moment to make out the words on the first unfinished note, but he eventually does read the first few sentences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on twitter as @mlm_eddie_k!
> 
> or on tumblr as nonbinaryeddiekaspbrak!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh soo i completely forgot about this.
> 
> but i do plan on posting a chapter or two so dw
> 
> i hope everyone is doing well!

_I've thought about this a lot- about how I'd go out. Everything seemed to go different ways, and I wasn't exactly sure if any of them were particularly best. So-_

The letter ends there. Michael sets that one down to pick up another one. It, to his knowledge, was the more completed of the letters, capping out at a couple of sentences.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh requests are open uwu pls send smth ⬇⬇⬇
> 
> my tumblr: nonbinaryeddiekaspbrak
> 
> im doing bmc, deh, pjo, sanders sides, '17 and '19's It, and possibly marvel

_To be completely honest here, I saw this coming. This entire thing was inevitable. I've felt like this for a long time, but never actually,_ truly _went through with anything. _I_ don't want anyone to think it was their fault, though. You don't deserve that guilt. I do. So don't-_

<strike> _Don't try to save me, okay? Just-_ </strike>

Michael can feel the rest of the shock melting off of him, an overwhelming sadness taking it's place because he should have _known._ They were best friends for fuck's sake! He sho-

Another letter somehow escapes the pile and lands at Michael's feet, and he idly wonders why no one had come looking for him yet, but that gets wiped from his mind as he reads one that actually seemed to be completed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh surprise?

_Sometimes I think about what comes after death; who's right and what actually happens when you cross that line. At first, it didn't really mean anything. Life was okay, I had a place to sleep, and the monsters in my closet seemed to disappear. And maybe Mom made a few comments, but I had it stuck in my head that that was her way of showing she loved me. Or maybe Dad spent a little too long at the office every day, but I knew he loved me, too. _

_And then there was yelling and fighting, and maybe I thought about it a little more seriously. <strike>Like in the way that it would be nice to know, but maybe I didn't mind finding it out myself.</strike>_

_ <strike>And everything seems so loud now</strike> _

_ <strike>It's so loud I can't think. </strike> _

And Michael can sympathize with some of it, but after those words, he can't make himself read any farther, so he folds the paper into neat squares before sliding it into his pocket. He walks out of Jeremy's room, still partially in a trance, not even daring to touch anything else.

He meets his moms outside, both of them looking extremely worried, but the only thought Michael can muster is he hopes that Jeremy's okay.


End file.
